Page 82 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

Perhaps if he just explained everything, from the way his father had behaved to his mother and him, to the way he’d run off from England with his heart crushed? Would she understand his need to help Eloise, because it had been the right thing to do, not because he still cared for her? She would think him all kinds of fool if he told her the truth. And she would be right.

No. A sensible man would insist she return to him on his rights as a husband.

He took a deep breath and leaped over the stile. As he strode up the hill, he saw a couple strolling along the hedgerow on the other side, also heading towards the Dearing house.

One of them he recognised instantly: Florence. The sunlight caught her hair, creating a halo around her head, her bonnet swung from its strings in her hand. Every step she took showed her thoughtfulness and care for the tottering fellow holding on to her arm. Her father, leaning heavily on his daughter.

It appeared the old fellow really had been ill. Graydon had assumed she had conjured up an illness for her father as an excuse, since she had not mentioned it in the days before she’d left.

He halted mid-stride, staring at the tall grasses bending to the breeze around his boots. His gut churned. His heart felt as heavy as lead, as if it could drop to the ground at his feet if he should breathe wrongly.

When Florence approached the back gate, Primrose was waiting there to greet them.

As usual, she looked lovely, despite her hair being covered by a kerchief and her nose smudged with soot, where she had been cleaning the grate in father’s study while Florence had taken him for a walk.

It was really the maid of all work’s task, but father always complained that the maid made too much dust and he coughed for hours afterwards. Primrose, on the other hand, made a very neat job of it.

Father had suffered what the doctor called a mild apoplexy. Florence had been shocked at his appearance when she’d first arrived home, but he was getting better. She was sure he was. Walks in the fresh air were helping him get stronger.

‘All clean and tidy again, Father,’ Primrose said as she opened the gate. ‘How was your walk?’

Father smiled vaguely. ‘I had a thought about my book, for chapter one. I need to look at it again.’

Florence stifled a groan. The book never got past chapter five.

‘Come with me, then,’ Primrose said. She glanced at Florence and then directed her gaze behind her, eyebrows raised. ‘I saw him when I looked out of the window.’

Florence turned to see Graydon striding purposefully towards them. She knew he was due at Blackdown Hall. One of the hall’s servants had mentioned it to the post mistress, who had told Lilian.

‘Who? What?’ Father said, looking anxious.

‘It is nothing, Father,’ Florence said soothingly.

‘Go and meet him,’ Primrose whispered over Father’s shoulder as they turned away. ‘Come along, Papa. You can dictate your change to me, since Iris is busy with Cook.’

He was probably coming to tell her she must return to London. She had half-expected a letter from him, but hadn’t been surprised when no letter had arrived. She imagined him busy with his business affairs and his love affair, though she had tried not to think about him at all. The empty ache in her chest had made that difficult.

She walked down the hill to meet him. They halted a few steps from each other. He looked so tall, so very handsome and that grim expression of his, so very dear. In spite of everything, she had missed him. But then she really was a foolish woman.

‘Lovely day for a walk,’ he said.

She looked around her. She had noticed it wasn’t raining, of course, but she hadn’t really noticed anything else except getting Father to agree to walk outside. ‘Yes. Lovely.’

‘Will you walk with me, Lady Blackdown?’ His expression was unreadable, but he was holding out his arm—so very formal.

The breath stuck in her throat. Would he want a divorce? Father would never survive the scandal. Perhaps he would simply insist she return with him to London. The thought of seeing him with Lady Standish…

She pushed the thought aside. What could she do, but accept his escort? With great trepidation, she laid her hand on his coat sleeve.

He must have sensed her hesitation because he glanced back at the house. ‘Do you suppose they are watching from the windows?’

‘Without a doubt,’ she said, unable to suppress the amusement in her voice. He had no brothers or sisters, but he clearly understood that siblings would always be curious, and protective.

She was sure Primrose and Iris would run to her rescue if they sensed anything amiss. Not that she had told them very much of what had happened. She had been focussing on Father, which had helped—a little.

He made a face and kept walking, veering off the path to the stile and instead heading for the far corner, where an ancient oak tree marked the boundary of the field.

They walked in silence. She wished she could judge his mood. Was he angry? He had been extremely angry the last time they’d met. And then he’d stormed off, after telling her to leave.